Velvet Paws, Moonlight Claws
by KillerElephants
Summary: Edited re-post. AU: Upon their return to the FTL, Regina is banished to a small cabin in the woods. With wards keeping her from entering the Charming's Kingdom, she comes up with a desperate plan to get herself in, even if it is only once every full moon, for just a short few hours. Swan Queen, Regina Mills, Emma Swan.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Finally getting this one back up, the sequel is still in the planning stage. This is based on the AU that the breaking of the curse has transported everybody back to the FTL._

_With thanks to MeganBellaRoseBlack for originally betaing this first chapter._

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Velvet Paws, Moonlight Claws

Regina Mills had never expected that banishment would be any fun. In fact, she had all but prepared herself for the loneliness her life would sink into after the return to the fairytale world. She guessed not even the _fairest in the land_ could forgive her for her little evil curse. But Regina had also never expected that she would find a way around her solitary lifestyle.

The Charmings had seen to it that she could never pass into their Kingdom without her body being violently rejected - and Regina had no doubt that it would be a very violent rejection - but what they hadn't counted on was her finding loopholes in their wards. If it was her _body_ that could not pass over the magical thresholds which protected their land, she wondered if the same could be said for her _spirit_.

She had never been one for astral projection or outer-body-experiences, and she wanted more than to merely go around creaking floorboards and haunting the villagers (however tempting that sounded), and so _a_ body would be required.

In all her years studying magic, Regina had come to appreciate the help of a familiar. She had always felt an affinity with animals and was pleased to find that, upon her return to her home land, that that gift had not left her. Tsuki, as the little black cat went by, had come to her cottage in the woods by chance. The little creature was young, hungry, and looking for shelter. Regina guessed the cat had wandered far from home, become lost in the woods, and happened by her shabby cottage by chance. For who else would be walking through the darkest, most feared area of woodland outside of the Charming's Kingdom?

Tsuki drank her warm milk and ate what little meat she had left - she wasn't much of a hunter, but magic always helped - and had curled up in front of her small fire for the night. Regina had been unable to rid herself of the animal ever since, though she found the company was not at all unwelcome. But now, of course, she had an idea of just how the little animal could repay her.

It was not an easy spell, and by no means was it without its boundaries, but Regina knew she had to try. She had spent only a short few months living in abandonment and already was it becoming unbearable; she almost _missed_ the insufferable townspeople she had trapped in Maine, Earth, for at least then she had been able to speak to people, even if it was only to make them aware of how dispensable their lives were.

As it turned out, the ceremony for the transferral of her spirit into the little cat's only had to be performed once, on a waxing moon, and thereafter every other full moon could she enter the animal's body with a much less complicated spell. In the end, it all depended on Tsuki's tolerance of her soul, but she had been good to the cat and vowed that if the little animal didn't let her in, she would surely kick it out.

When the time of the waxing moon came, Regina had cast her circle and unleashed her spell into the night. Tsuki was surprisingly agreeable throughout the entire event, sitting patiently and grooming herself while Regina chanted and danced. The barely visible, purple aura that surrounded the cat for an hour after the enacting of the spell let Regina know that it had been successful, and she had fed the cat the very last of what little meat she had left for being so forthcoming.

That night, she had slept like a log, with Tsuki by her feet, snoring softly. The first stage of the spell was complete; all she had to do now was wait for the waxing moon to grow into its full-faced counterpart. The process of transferring her spirit into the cat's body would happen with little obstacles, if done correctly, and would last for all of twelve hours before her spirit seeped out again. It would be up to her, alone, to then find her body and reunite her spirit with her physical form.

If it took her a few hours, at good speed, to get to the outskirts of the Charming's Kingdom, that would leave her with around six hours, five just to be safe - she didn't want her spirit roaming freely in the woods while her empty body waited, susceptible, back at the cottage - to explore their land and mix amongst their people. That was, if she was correct in her finding of the loophole in their wards.

She would have to wait until she was inside the cat's body before testing out the wards, and only then would she know whether or not she would be able to pass. If she was rejected, the impact would most likely take Tsuki's life, and seriously injure her spirit, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. The creature's life was a price she was willing to pay - the gods knew she had paid higher in her lifetime. All she had to do now… was wait.

Time would tell if her little spell casting had been successful.

# # # #

Emma Swan felt her head swarm with incredulity as she watched the crowds gather, cheering and waving excitedly, before the balcony of the Palace. "This is your Kingdom," Snow grinned beside her, squeezing her hand.

She understood that it was hard on Emma, being transported to an entirely new world, but the fairytale land was in her veins. She hoped it would not take long for her daughter to fully settle in here.

Beside her, David was waving, and Snow heartily joined in. Emma could not remember the name of the celebration that was taking shape - she hadn't paid much attention when Snow was talking her through it, and she really could not care less about the event - but she felt just about as out of place as she ever had.

These were not her people, this was not her _home_.

Henry, waving and grinning, turned to look at her excitedly. She was almost bitter that he had settled in so well, even when she had more of a right, by blood, to fit in here better than he did. But at least he wasn't miserable, too. It wouldn't do for them both to be deliriously dissatisfied with this new world.

She managed a weak smile back at him and, in his excitement, Henry barely registered her discomfort before turning back around to look down on the people of the Charmings' Kingdom.

The day progressed in a similar fashion, with Emma uncomfortable in her corset and either not curtseying properly or curtseying without a need. She felt that whatever she was doing was either wrong or severely inappropriate.

Apparently, Snow and David, for she really was not going to get used to calling them 'mom and dad', had invited a large group - and by large, think room-sized - of royals to enjoy a celebratory meal. Again, for what, Emma was not sure, but the food had been good, if not unfamiliar, and the entertainment afterwards, she supposed, was tolerable. Instead of a live rock band or a DJ - of course everyone looked at her as though she'd gone mad at the suggestion, even despite their stay in Storybrooke - there was a small group of court jesters situated around the room, with music playing from an apparently prestigious orchestra. It was all very… upper class, none of which made Emma feel any more comfortable in her new home.

When she managed to fall out of conversation with those around her - was she to remember _all_of their names? - and with a quick glance around for Henry, who seemed to be happily playing with a number of small children of all ages, Emma slipped away from the party and made for the gardens.

It was cold, quiet, and she was not surprised - but very pleased - to find that no one was out there bar a few guards. She doubted she'd ever learn to think of the guards as ornaments, however, no matter how well those around her did to ignore them, but their presence did not intrude upon her quiet time. They would only approach her, she knew, if she was in danger, and what was there to fear in her own family's gardens?

Walking around a few hedges in the hope of distancing herself from view - the last thing she wanted was an overly friendly prince calling her back inside - Emma was pleased to find a small bench carved from a large tree, and took a seat upon it.

At any other time in her life, she might have gazed at the living bench with awe and fascination, but she had already ridden decedents of Pegasus - very badly, and with much apprehension - and been almost eaten, twice, by a number of dragons. The bench-tree seemed meagre in comparison.

Sagging in her posture, and thinking bitterly how if only her mother or father could see her now, Emma let out a sigh and dropped her head in her hands, elbows resting over her knees. The corset made the position uncomfortable, but she didn't feel like she had the energy to move. She just wanted to brush her hair out of the ridiculous updo it was in, pull on some jeans and her knee-length boots, and drive her little yellow Bug - she almost sobbed right then and there, wondering what had happened to it - as far away as she could. Perhaps she'd take Henry, but he seemed so happy here…

Her thoughts were disturbed by a sudden movement in her peripheral. Turning abruptly, Emma straightened in her seat and looked for any ominous shadows that were going to leap forth from the ground itself and suck her under, but nothing came. Just as the goosebumps over her arms began to settle down, a high pitched, almost whiny meowing caught her attention.

The cat was tiny, with short, black fur and large, orange eyes that held her suspiciously in place. Frowning, Emma watched as the cat, frozen in posture, regarded her. When the little beast refused to move, she sighed and hissed out, "Shoo, cat," but the creature apparently ignored her request.

She had yet to see any animal other than birds in the Palace's gardens, the same birds that woke her up, singing merrily, every morning at dawn. She couldn't help the tiny whisper in the back of her mind that hoped the cat was here to finally relieve her of her unwanted alarm clocks.

Gaining confidence, the little black cat leapt up to sit beside her on the bench, bringing them to equal levels. Emma thought the stray looked just as out of place as she did and, with a sigh, sunk back against the bench, allowing the creature to stay with her. What harm could a little company do, especially company that couldn't nag her into sitting up and forcing on a polite smile?

Plus, she supposed, it was kinda cute…

# # # #

"Blacky! I wasn't expecting you so early…" Emma grinned, seeing the little cat where she always seemed to find it; on the tree bench in the empty gardens.

The place had come to serve as a refuge from the Palace life, and although Snow and David had picked up on her frequent visits out there, at night and alone, they never objected. It was pushing midnight and Emma knew she should try and sleep, but she seldom found herself in the right frame of mind to fall asleep most nights and, with the tranquillity of the gardens, she figured this was the best place she could come to feel any closer to peace.

The cat almost bristled at the name - she was never the creative type - and, if Emma didn't know any better, she'd think the animal understood her words. Anything was possible, she supposed, and after breaking an Evil Queen's curse and freeing storybook characters back to their fairytale world (being transported along for the ride), Emma had to admit that nothing would come as a shock to her after that.

"Don't give me that look, I could have settled with _Fluffy_ or _Buttercup_," she threatened, falling onto the bench beside the cat and allowing it to paw its way over her lap, as it had taken to doing lately.

It wasn't often that she saw the little cat, but it appeared to grow more confident with each visit to the Palace gardens, and Emma could hardly complain. There might still be birds singing outside her window at the crack of dawn, but the cat proved to be surprisingly good company.

With a sigh, and after the little black cat was finished head-butting her hands in an attempt to prolong her scratching behind its ears, Emma folded her arms around its silky body and allowed it to lie slightly over her chest, wide, orange eyes watching her, always watching her.

With a frown, Emma wondered aloud, "So, you were in Storybrooke too, huh? I wonder who you were. Don't tell me…" She closed her eyes in thought, and a smirk overtook her features as she finally settled on a title, opening her eyes to peer down at the inquisitive looking cat. "You were the daughter of some retired, old man; young, dumb but stinking, filthy rich."

The cat let out an almost-meow at her words and Emma laughed, but her grin soon dipped into a frown as she wondered, as she often did, whether the animal had actually understood her words.

"I'm kidding," she told the creature seriously, all too aware of what damage a cat's claws could do. "You were probably just a cat. Or a bird… you don't seem to be doing me any favours by hunting them down."

The cat, bored with her musings, let out a yawn and finally closed its eyes, lying down fully and stretching out over her stomach.

Emma wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep, but she had been woken hours later by her maid and told to come indoors. Blacky was nowhere in sight, and her body was aching from the position she had been sleeping in over the bench. It wasn't the most comfortable of places to sit in for a long amount of time, never mind lounge. She was not reluctant to leave the garden and retire to the bed that was too comfortable to be of any comfort.

Under her maid's disapproving stare, she went to sleep without complaint.

# # # #

Regina sighed and stretched as she came back into her body, limp limbs tingling with being inhabited once again. Little Tsuki purred beside her on the rug before the fire, licking her paw as if she had not just been taken over by the dark haired witch's spirit. Regina, however, could not keep the smile from her lips.

She had first decided to pay the Palace a visit regardless of her better judgement, hoping to catch a glimpse of Henry. She had, and he seemed happy, and that made up for him being awake well past his usual bedtime. The sight of her son playing with the children of the royals did not upset her as she thought it might, but rather she found herself undeniably relieved that he had settled into the fairytale world with ease. His happiness at the hands of the Charmings was one thing, but she didn't think she could handle seeing him so miserable again.

She had been surprised to find none other than Emma Swan lurking around the gardens, however, and was even further surprised still when Emma continued to linger around the gardens each full moon - or every other night as well, for all she knew - as if she was waiting for her arrival. Or rather, the little cat she now referred to as 'Blacky's arrival.

Regina rolled her eyes at the name and sat up from her place on the floor, standing and brushing down her dress. Of course Emma couldn't come up with something a little… _more_. What had surprised her the most, however - and her time in the fairytale land was proving to be very surprising - was her own willingness to curl up with the former Sheriff of Storybrooke and even allow her to pet her. In fact, she almost _enjoyed_ the time she spent with Emma.

What with the spell's need to be cast during a full moon, it was difficult for Regina to transfer herself into Tsuki's body and make it to the Palace in time to spend any significant amount of time watching Henry, but she had seen glimpses. She was yet to approach her son, but when the time was right, she would make her presence known.

She was unsure as to what Henry might think of her, after all he had been the one to see right through her in Storybrooke, and she worried he might do the same should she present herself to him just yet. And that's where Emma's unexpected alliance came in handy.

Regina hoped, at best, that if Emma was so taken with the little black cat she transferred her spirit into, she might help in the winning around of Henry's adoration, should he suspect anything _off_about her animal form. If not, her cover would be blown and she would face the consequences, but she knew they would be absolutely worth it if it meant coming within reaching distance of her little boy once again.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Okay, so this little story has somewhat ran away with me. I've edited the rest of the chapters, and have begun writing the sequel. So far, I'm two chapters in, and will begin posting it as soon as I've finished with this one. I'll be posting it on this account, despite it not being a re-post, so that it's not too difficult to find for anyone who wishes to read on. :)_

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Emma forced the air from her lungs in an irritated exhale. The day had been tiring and yet uneventful, what with Henry's time occupied with lessons. Her parents had been busy - running a Kingdom, she guessed - and she had been left to her own devices.

Before she had left her at breakfast, Snow had hinted that a little horse riding might do her well, but Emma had taken one look at the great, white beast her mother had told her she could ride at her leisure, and she had bolted from the stables without so much as a look back.

The grand library's mountain of books had eaten up a chunk of her day, and she had skipped her 'tea time' in favour of a long walk, which had left her boots dirtied a full six-inches up. Emma still found it unbelievable that the fairytale world - the people who, at least, had lived in Storybrooke - continued on as normal, as though the last twenty eight years were irrelevant.

It appeared that women were still battling for rights, toilets were just a hole in a bench, and anything electrical was so alien it might as well have come from a dream. And Emma almost believed it really had. No one appeared to miss any of the conveniences of the modern world they had lived in - _her_ world. In fact, it felt to Emma as though everybody was attempting to force themselves to forget about Storybrooke, and that only made her miss it more.

Frustrated and tired, but still in the riding wear she had pulled on with every ounce of wishful thinking she could manage, Emma slumped on the tree bench in the palace gardens, an apple in one hand and a small, wooden-handled knife in the other. She attempted to peel the fruit but almost skinned her knuckles in the process and so, instead, settled for cutting out chunks and popping them into her mouth.

It was whilst taking the majority of her irritation out on the poor fruit that she heard the soft, padded landing of a little black cat beside her. The blonde was quite pleased with herself when she didn't jump out of her skin - or, rather, miss the apple and take off a finger out of surprise - as she turned to look down at the familiar creature she had become so fond of.

"Hey, cat," she sighed, leaving the knife sticking out of the apple's half-eaten core as she wiped a sticky hand down her riding trousers and reached over to stroke the tiny animal's fluffy head. Its short, dark fur stuck on end from the remnants of the apple juice on her fingers and the beast gave a frustrated meow, orange moons momentarily narrowing. "Sorry," she mumbled, sheepish, and attempted to wipe all the fur from her fingers before she got back to mutilating her apple.

Beside her, Blacky washed her face, swiping a long, pink tongue out to coat a silky paw before raising it at what Emma saw to be an awkward angle, and rubbing it against the sticky, apple-gelled fur between her pointed ears. The cat looked different in the evening light, where both sun and moon lit the orange sky; it was darker, somehow, and less cat-like than Emma remembered cats ever being.

As though to prove this theory, Blacky made sure to give its washing paw a thorough lick once it had cleaned its fur, as though enjoying the taste of the apple. Or, Emma mused, was just a completely clean freak.

Puzzled, Emma frowned a little and glanced back down to the half-eaten apple in her hands. She swept her eyes across to Blacky and saw two large pupils fully dilated, leaving a mere ring of orange to break up the irises, and stuck firm to the fruit in her hands. She almost thought herself delusional when she began to cut off a small chunk of apple - cats were carnivores, right? _Right_? - but Blacky continued to watch her with great interest in the gleaming, apple-coated knife.

"Is that what you want?" Emma asked, frown remaining, as she held out the small chunk for the cat to take.

A warm, rough tongue swept over her fingers as the cat took the apple chunk into its mouth and chewed happily. Emma soon shrugged the strangeness off, batting away her curiosity, as she supposed she was in an entirely different, _magical_ realm now. Anything was possible, even apple-eating carnivores, she supposed.

# # # #

Regina's body fizzed and popped with the familiar sensation of her soul filling out her body once again. The fine wisps of non-purified grey reached around to each crevasse, feeling their way along her inner walls as her spirit fit itself back into her familiar shape. She stretched, her spirit happy to finally have room enough to breath, and opened her eyes.

As she looked around the room, the light from the fire appearing different and yet familiar all at once, she felt the emptiness fill her stomach, which had earlier, whilst in Tsuki's body, been brimming with apple and the cooked meats.

Hoping to fill the hole and ground herself within her own body - or perhaps just to persuade her spirit not to depart again anytime soon – Regina pushed herself to her feet and set about forcing over her the skin of the domestic housewife. She moved to the kitchen with ease, despite her light head, and pulled out the necessary ingredients for a small meal. Bread and wine came first, the routine a familiar one from her years spent with a coven of witches, and she greedily downed the lot whilst stirring her way through a hearty soup.

By her feet, a meowing sounded, and Regina glanced down just in time to catch the black-furred cat she had taken in as her own - in more ways than one - rear itself up onto hind legs and brush its bony shoulder against one leg, stray furs clinging to the material of her floor-length crimson skirt. She smiled at the cat, pursed her lips to keep its attention with a few loud '_pupupup_' air kisses, and broke off a small piece of the bread she was chomping her way through, dipping it into her soup - still cooking - before offering it to the animal by her feet.

Tsuki gladly ate the foreign foods and, satisfied with the attention it was receiving, remained in the kitchen - perched atop the table, ignoring the 'get downs' - as Regina cooked and ate.

Later that night, Tsuki purred pleasantly as she stretched over her human's legs, her own body finally settled from having to make room for the witch's spirit inside of her. The quaint little cabin was warm, heated by a steadily dying fire, and Regina was waiting for sleep to come while reading an old book.

It had been there since before she had taken up residence inside of the tiny cottage - possibly even before she had unleashed Rumpelstiltskin's curse, if the dust that coated each page was anything to go by - but her mind was hard at work behind those steadily sweeping brown irises.

It was time, Regina concluded, for her to take her furry acquaintance with Emma to the next level. It was time to infiltrate the Charming's Palace walls.

# # # #

Snow White smiled at the bluebird that perched, wings flapping to steady its landing, on the back of her outstretched hand. "Hello, little bird," she crooned, tone a gentle lilt. The bird offered her its own response - a melodic chirp - and preened its feathers, fully relaxed within the good Queen's hold.

It was nearing dusk and Snow had finally found a moment to herself, alone. David had been promising an educational spar to Henry since they had all arrived back to their magical realm, and the now eleven year old had finally refused to wait any longer. They were currently in a make-shift arena in the far gardens, Emma watching from a nearby bench.

She could almost hear their raucous laughter from where she stood, with the bird fumbling around her hand, searching for better purchase. She took in a breath of the evening air and finally felt the unease she had retained since before returning to her homeland – the last part of Mary Margaret – chip and crack beneath the dying sky.

It had taken longer than she had expected to settle into her old routine, the remnants of that distant world - both disturbingly familiar and intangibly unreal - felt like a patchy, half-forgotten dream she had once had, perhaps reoccurring. A place where she might have been happy, should she have been able to explore and love, where she played the part of a mild mannered schoolteacher. If it had been a dream, Snow might have laughed at it now, the absurdity of it all, as she sat by Charming's side and retold the story.

And he probably would have laughed, too, for who could comprehend living a full twenty eight years in a foreign world and then suddenly being transported back home, back to the strikingly familiar and yet newly unfamiliar, expected to carry on as though none of it had happened? As though she had not slept with men, been the mistress of her own husband, played her part in breaking up a now known to be false marriage, been charged for murder, and been proven innocent with the help of none other than her own - now fully grown - daughter?

Her head hurt merely thinking about it, eyes straining against the too-bright colours of this realm that she was once so at home in. The air boasted a roguish warmth for the end of Summer, though blew a breeze that hinted at the hard Winter to come, with time. She wondered if they'd be any further settled into their own lands by the time it arrived.

Emma release a breathy laugh as she watched David - her father - chase Henry back to the palace. Their little sparring competition had been… interesting, but Hery had got in one last hit just as they had finished. David had been surprised, shouted something about dishonour and cowardice, and chased him back to the palace with a wide, laughing grin over his face. But now, as they ran up the hill that the monstrous Palace sat atop, Emma couldn't help but think that perhaps Henry took after Regina after all.

The thought almost startled her, hearing the former mayor's name rattling around her head as though merely an echo inside a cave. Her feet stopped on their own accord as she watched Henry, turning every now and then with a squeal to see just how close David was getting to him. He had not mentioned his adoptive mother since they first arrived in the fairytale land, and even then his whispered '_what happened to the Evil Queen?_' held no trace of a little boy's longing to be with his mother.

She had wondered, quite often, if Henry would miss Regina more - or, at least, allow himself to express these feelings - were his life now not so different to how it was growing up. If he had to sit at a table, in an ordinary - if not large - house, and eat the food he was used to, would it not be these small differences that would worm their way into his mind, setting down seeds of doubt, or longing?

Perhaps he'd nudge the peas around his plate with a loosely held fork and mutter darkly, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Mom never did it like this… Mom used to always have dinner ready at half six… Mom would read me _two_ stories at night… Mom never made me play with kids I didn't like…"

The stark differences, Emma thought, were what kept those little whines at bay. She had been finally reassured, upon first driving Henry back to his home, back to Regina, that she had made the right decision all those years ago in giving him up. His life, she saw, had the potential to be perfect. But now, his life had quite literally been transformed into a fairytale, with dragons and unicorns and little, flying glowing balls of magic. It was a far cry from the life of a lonely mayor's son.

And, really, Henry barely wanted to sit down to eat his dinner, not when there was so much for him to explore. And Snow would indulge him as many stories as he asked for, would even hog the books from Emma after she whined, taking her place as the fair Queen's daughter, that it was her turn to read aloud. And she had never seen Henry get on better with children his own age, than those he would play with now.

There wasn't a lot to miss from his old life, not when this new one was so enchanting, but she wondered - when the fuzzy glow wore off - if he'd eventually begin to miss the normality, the familiar, and the seemingly missing, of his mother's lacking presence.

Emma was almost surprised the supposed _Evil Queen_ hadn't returned, but David had assured her that the wards protecting them had been finely attuned to reject her body. Emma wasn't so sure she liked the sound of his phrasing, but she hadn't questioned him. In truth, the last thing she wanted was for Regina to appear, steal her son back, and flit away into the night, neither of them ever to be seen again.

It was as she allowed her mind to wonder away with her - thoughts of Regina, much to her frustration, and how she would be fairing now, alone - and watched Henry and David dissolve into fine smudges as they reached the Palace, that she felt a familiar presence with her.

Glancing around, Emma smiled when her eyes finally settled on a low-hanging tree branch. "Blacky," she greeted, and watched as the little black cat licked its paw in return. To say it was such a tiny thing, the creature had a monstrous presence. She glanced up at the sky, saw it was darkening, and wondered where the day had gone.

When she turned back, Blacky was not on the tree branch, but by her feet. "Where've you been?" she asked, stooping so that she could scratch beneath the little beast's chin. The animal gave her no response, whether it understood or not, and padded over her boots - because the riding wear really was more comfortable than those damn corsets - as she stood.

"I'm hungry, kitty," she told the little thing, and those large, orange eyes looked up at her as if to ask '_so?_' "I'm going inside," she elaborated.

The cat, perhaps offended, left her boots to pounce atop a flat rock in the middle of a flower bed. The pinks and oranges, yellows and purples, swayed with the movement as the little cat's back legs skimmed over them. Once seated, it continued to wash its paw, eyes closed so as to eclipse Emma from sight.

Feeling perfectly dismissed, Emma smirked and rolled her eyes. It was only when she began making her way towards the Palace again - half way up the hill - that she heard the soft meow that she thought perhaps translated as '_slow down! wait up!_'

She turned, eyes to the ground, and frowned curiously as Blacky followed her up the hill. When it caught up to where she had stopped, it brushed its silky back against her booted foot and whined another meow.

"You're coming, too?" Emma asked, having fallen into the habit of talking to inanimate objects and non-speaking animals long before her transferral to the fairytale land. She wondered if that was normal of the people from _her_ world, of if it was just an effect of her birthright.

The black cat from the Palace gardens had never so much as expressed an interest in the actual Palace before, however, and Emma was surprised by the sudden change. She wondered if Snow and James would let her have a pet - almost cringed, or smirked, at the irony of how being back with them was returning to her those long lost childish milestones - but figured that, if they tried to tell her 'no', she could easily get Henry on her side. He liked animals, that much she knew, and Blacky really was a friendly little thing.

As she took back off up the hill, Blacky trailing behind, her short legs working harder to keep up, Emma smiled in anticipation of her son's reaction. In her excitement, she failed to notice the narrowed, seething orange eyes, brimming with understanding, which followed her body.

When she heard the faint noise behind her, it registered as a meow and not the '_how dare you use me to bond with my son_' as was intended.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stop, stop!" Henry screamed, laughter wracking his body as he attempted to twist free from the head-lock his grandfather had him in. "_Sto-ho-hop_!"

Snow White gave a delicate roll of her eyes as she glanced back down to the little bird on her hand - her attention having been previously grabbed by the squealing, raucous laughter coming from her grandson. Blue feathers, beautifully preened, twitched with nerves, the bird's dainty head flitting jauntily as it watched the interaction going on a few paces away. "There, there," Snow eased, curling a finger and gently smoothing it down the bird's silken neck, "they won't hurt you."

The creature appeared settled by her words but, with a startled chirp and a flurry of feathers, suddenly rushed from Snow's hands, forcing itself into the air even before its wings had the chance to carry it. She watched it disappear into a leafy tree, perched statuesquely still on a top branch.

With a soft frown, Snow glanced around to determine what had startled the little bird. It was only when her eyes settled on Emma, and her daughter's _friend_, that she understood.

"Emma?" Henry cried, his tone full of high-pitched wonder. David had released him from the tight hold upon seeing his daughter approach. He stood behind Henry, now, frowning down at the little black creature that stood timidly behind Emma's feet.

"It's a cat," Henry beamed, squatting down to the creature's level and missing the smirk and eye-roll from Emma, above. She refrained from making a wise-ass comment and merely watched as Blacky peered around at him, clear uncertainty clouding those large, orange eyes.

Emma waited, watching the cat's thought process easily displayed in its sunset-shaded round moons, for Henry's outstretched hand to make contact. The eleven year old glanced up, once, to make sure his mother was not going to warn him against stroking the strange creature, and then paused with his stretched fingers a few inches away from the cat's nose.

Blacky remained perfectly still for a number of seconds. When the black-furred beast determined that it saw only longing and excitement in the young boy's eyes, it took a cautionary step forward and dipped its head to give Henry's fingers a rough shove. Emma felt herself exhale with relief at Henry's grin, unable to keep the smile from her own lips as her son shuffled forward so as to cup his fingers around Blacky's head, scratching her fluffy neck.

"Emma?" The woman herself glanced up, eyes meeting with her approaching mother as Snow regarded the little cat with a quirked brow. She gave her daughter a confused tilt of the head and waited for her to explain.

"I've been seeing it- _her_ around the gardens," Emma explained, shoving her hands in her pockets and chancing a glance down to where Henry was now sitting, cross-legged, on the floor, the little black cat purring with content as he scratched beneath her chin and behind her ears. "Can we keep her?" Her voice was small, uncertain, as she raised her eyes up to gauge her parents' reactions.

David was quick to crouch down behind Henry, smiling fondly at the cat that his grandson and daughter seemed so taken with. He cautiously held out a hand and it was only when Henry muttered a soft, "It's okay, he won't hurt you," that Blacky's eyes slipped shut in content and she allowed the King's large hands to brush over her silken, black back.

Snow remained standing, peering down at the cat with caution. She had attempted to keep all cats - especially strays - from her garden, where the birds liked to dwell, if only for their comfort. Every now and then a little cat would find its way inside and, either before or after it had toyed with or dined on the gardens' double-winged residents, she would see to its removal. She tried to find the creatures a loving home, of course, either with the family of one of her guards or servants, but she wasn't always successful. Taking a cat in herself was out of the picture, always had been, but seeing her family now cocoon themselves around this little black stray had her resolve melting. Perhaps, just this one time…

Practically feeling his grandmother's unease and uncertainty, Henry twisted around to peer up at her and had no shame in his almost whining, "_Pleaaase_?"

Snow's eyes met her husband's, wondering where he stood on the topic, but David barely allowed for a beat of silence before he was answering, "Yes." His eyes found deep blue, his smile broadening, as he waited for Snow's answer. Her expression flashed with surprise - and only a hint of annoyance - but the second her eyes fell back to where Henry was sitting, the troublesome cat pawing at his lap, her decision was made.

"Of course," and she managed a small smile as she raised her gaze to Emma, "as long as you take good care of it."

Emma had to refrain from rolling her eyes; her parents had a bad habit of referring to her like she was still their young child. She had managed to hold her tongue, for now, but she had no qualms in bringing their slip ups to light should they continue. "I know," she nodded, her smile returning as she crouched before Henry and Blacky, "we'll look after her, won't we, kid?"

Henry nodded with enthusiasm and Emma thought she saw the exact moment confusion dampened his excitement. "What's she called?" he asked, lifting his gaze from those large, orange eyes to question his mother.

"Blacky."

"_Blacky_?" His amused disappointment spiked a laugh at his mother's _creativity__,_ and he easily rolled his eyes.

It wasn't a 'cool' name, no, but the second he looked down at the dark animal shimmering and purring in his lap, he saw it rather fitting, nonetheless. The cat, now, however, _Blacky_, almost appeared to smile as his fingers hooked their way beneath her chin, scratching, and her eyes closed in delight. Though whether at Henry's ministrations, or finally having someone agree with her on Emma Swan's poor name choice, the eleven year old wasn't sure.

# # # #

Held captive within Tsuki's furry body, Regina surmised that the Charmings must have been so taken with their new pet - and she tried to hold back the sudden urge to heave up a fur ball at the thought - to determine whether the cat they were welcoming freely into their Palace held any traces of magic - and, furthermore, _her_.

The fact that they had not even checked to see whether the cat they knew as Blacky - and, again, she felt a fur ball on its way up her throat - was all as it seemed did little to surprise her.

Creatures came and went in this world as they had in the other - some were in possession of great power, true, but especially in the current times, those types were unavoidably rare. And the spell she had mastered in order to project her soul within Tsuki's body was not at all available to the common practitioner of magic. One had to be experienced, powerful, and, above all else, insanely reckless in understanding the very prominent risks and all that could so easily go wrong.

It wasn't as though every other person they saw had forced their soul within an animal's body before, Regina knew, and so neither Snow nor David, of course, would suspect a thing. Especially not when their daughter and grandson were so taken with the furry beast. Still, it was a little disconcerting to see how easily a threat could enter their wards and get so close to Henry… If anything, that only solidified her reasons for returning to the Palace.

Regina was, at present, being jostled quite violently as Henry attempted to carry her up a set of stairs. She tried as best she could not to dig her claws in, or screech at his careless hold on her, as he took her to his mother's chambers. Emma was walking behind them, she could hear her prattling on about being careful, something about cats not liking being put inside a room and that, once they took her up there, she might act out in a panic to be free. Orange eyes almost rolled at the thought, but she held them at bay. Just because suspicions weren't already piqued, did not mean she wanted to provoke them.

"Aw, look at her," Henry almost squealed as he watched the black cat settle on his mother's four-poster bed. The cat appeared to be taking in her surroundings and, after a short pause, she lowered herself to a comfortable squat, where she sunk into the duvet over the bed and blinked tiredly. It was growing late.

Her yawn, for there was no hope in repressing it, had her casting a glance towards the window. She was most thankful to see it open - and Emma made no move to close it, even as she noticed the cool air in her bedchamber. There was a looming tree positioned just out of reach, close enough for her to land on should she need to jump. She was sure Tsuki's body was fit enough to make the jump, should it come to it - which she wholly believed it would.

"She looks settled," Emma commented, most relieved with Blacky's placid nature. She had been sure it would be too soon to bring the creature into the Palace this early, but the cat had, after another wide, tongue-arching yawn, sprawled out and curled over her bed like it belonged there. She put the curiousness down to the magical realm - as she had a tendency of doing, it seemed - and ignored the cautious alert at the back of her mind. It was always easier to do when Henry was beaming at her so happily. He really was settling in well here.

"Can I stay in here tonight?" Henry asked, his excitement and hope easily covering any shame he might have in asking to spend the night in his mother's bed at eleven years old.

Emma quirked a brow but answered, "Sure."

"Blacky really likes it here," Henry said, the little black cat moving to throw her body down against his chest as he curled around her, lounging comfortably over the blankets. "Hey, Emma, do you think they have collars here?"

Emma shrugged as she took a seat beside them, her fingers instinctively seeking the silken soft fur at the base of Blacky's ears. "I don't know, kid. We can ask tomorrow." Henry's eyes brimmed with excitement.

"I've never had a cat before," he told Emma. "Mom never really liked pets."

And was it Emma's imagination, or did little Blacky suddenly become a little overly attentive with her son? She watched with an amused smile as the cat clambered over Henry's chest, causing him to giggle heartily as he rolled onto his back, and continued to squat there, purring, with those wide, orange eyes refusing to lose him from her sight for a mere second, if she could help it.

# # # #

Emma assumed it was the cold air now filling her bedchamber that had jostled her from sleep. Her tousled, blonde curls were easily brushed from her eyes to reveal a small body curled beneath the blankets beside her. Henry was still sleeping, dead to the world. At that thought, Emma swept her eyes around, hoping to ignore the sudden encroaching memory of her son lying, motionless, with a number of wires connected to beeping machines, the only things keeping him alive. It wouldn't do to dwell on the past, she thought, not now.

A wave of goosebumps clung beneath her bed shirt - she had skipped out of the nightgowns her mother had introduced her to - and the shiver reminded her of why she was awake in the first place. Carefully shifting from the bed, she made to move towards her open window, when her eyes suddenly caught sight of a small, black lump perched on the sill.

Emma's first reaction was to throw something at it, push it outside, get it away, but then memories of Blacky and her now staying with them, at the Palace, came flittering back and she approached the window, alerting the cat with her heavy, tired footsteps. Blacky pushed herself up into a sitting position, tensing out of her crouch with alertness, and twisted around to encompass the sleepy blonde within the bright reflections of her orange eyes.

"What's wrong, cat?" Emma quietly asked, the cool air causing her to wrap both arms tightly around her middle. Blacky's answer was a high-pitched meow that, Emma thought, might have meant something, perhaps even a real reply to her question, but she doubted she'd make sense of it even without her current burden of exhaustion.

It was only when she reached the window that Blacky twisted around once again, looking out into the night. The tree outside her window - often a nuisance; damn singing birds at the crack of dawn - looked menacing, draped in the night's lingering darkness. The depth of the night had Emma clinging to herself tighter; she was still so overly aware of being a stranger in a strange land.

With a sigh, she shrugged the creeping sensation of unease from her knotting shoulders and reached out to pull the window to a close. Before her fingers could grasp the frame, however, Blacky suddenly leapt from the windowsill and landed, with the heaved rustle of leaves, on a high-branch of the tree. "Blacky!" Emma hissed, fear spiking her chest as she wondered whether the cat might have hurt herself. "What the hell are you doing?"

Her frantic whispers, however, fell on deaf fuzzy black ears as Blacky merely ignored the woman now hanging out of her window, begging her to return. She leapt with a flourish from branch to lower branch, until her padded paws fell with a dull '_thud_' on the ground below.

"Blacky!" Emma tried again, voice hushed and muffled from her bedroom walls as she hung down at the waist, trying to make sense, through the darkness, of the tiny black shadow that was making its way through the Palace grounds below.

With a frown at the silence, Emma pushed herself to a standing position and wondered, with doubtful curiosity, what that little black creature was up to. Though, really, she supposed, it should come as no surprise that Blacky didn't want to stay indoors. She could only hope that the animal hadn't spooked and left her a nice little foul-smelling present beneath the bed before it had taken its leave.

# # # #

Tsuki's ears pricked, eyes widened, at the almost excitable squeal that left her human's wide, smiling mouth. She had never heard anything quite so… _girlish_ come from the woman, and had merely expected it was something the grown humans lost during the slow process of parting from youth.

She watched the dark witch curiously, now, from her place by the fire. The black fur over her back gladly absorbed the heat, willing away the chill that had clung to her body since she awoke on the rug just a few moments earlier, as though she had been caught in the lingering cool of the outside air.

"You, my little cat," the human began, dropping to Tsuki's level on the ground. The smile that captured her lips was shark-like, revealing smooth, white teeth, but Tsuki knew not to be afraid as the woman scooped her up from the fire and nestled her against her chest, supporting her from beneath with one arm whilst the other held her in place. "You are a charming beast," the woman finished with a happy sigh, dropping a soft kiss atop Tsuki's head.

The cat squirmed in her hold and so Regina freed it from her arms - right after a happy spin, skirts blooming like a late flower finally catching up with the end of Summer days. She moved through the cottage, blissful and content with her progress at the Charming's Palace, to fix herself a grounding brew and something to settle her stomach.

Regina couldn't remember the last time she had felt so peaceful. Although her time with Henry was now clipped by the ever present constraints of magic, she was seeing him, and that alone gave her hope for a happy future. She had him, now, not just within sight, but she had quite literally been within his grasp.

She would not lose him again, that she vowed, bringing a chilled glass of wine to her lips as she meandered around the small kitchen area. _She would not lose him again__. _


	4. Chapter 4

Emma watched the little black creature sitting by her feat with a quirked brow and a peculiar alertness. Blacky had been staying in the Palace with them for little over a few months now – though she wasn't quite sure she could call the infrequent and brief visits 'staying with them', perse.

She had never been so aware of the cat's disappearances until Blacky had been taken in by them, and what was more peculiar still was that Emma never saw the cat outside of the one night a month – quite literally – that it would visit. She had expected, upon bringing the animal in, that she would at least stick around for a little longer than she usually did in the Palace gardens, but that clearly was not turning out to be the case. Emma's suspicions were growing.

"Why are you giving me that look?" she sighed to the cat, frowning into large, orange eyes as Blacky merely watched her, paying no interest at all to the bowls of milk and meat that had just been placed down beside her. "Eat up," she urged, but the cat merely offered her an irritated meow in response and Emma wondered how it had the gall to sound so dissatisfied with her efforts.

A litterbox – or, rather, the fairytale world's equivalent of such – had been placed in the room, alongside a decorative cat bed (not that Blacky ever used it) and two shining bowls that held the cat's meal for the night and something to sip at, should she want it. With Henry always here whenever Blacky appeared, Emma truly could not see why it would be so restless inside the Palace. The cat had food, drink, company, and warmth; what more did it want?

It was growing late into the evening, the sun threatening to leave for good behind the hillside on the west end side of the Palace, and Emma's rumbling stomach shook all thought from her mind. As though she had been heard – and Emma really wouldn't put it past the attending workers – a distinct knock sounded at her door that could only ever mean one thing: dinner.

Hurrying to the door, Emma left Blacky where she sat ignoring her meat and milk. A kitchen worker, the young girl's face familiar, greeted Emma on the other side of the door with a wide smile and a curtsey. "You asked for dinner to be brought to you, Your Highness."

Ignoring the title – as she found herself rather good at by now – Emma grinned at the girl and took the serving table on wheels with both hands, pulling it back into her bedchamber with a, "Thanks, Gracie." The girl blushed at the Princess' use of her name and helped push the trolley in through the door.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Princess Emma?" Gracie asked with a polite smile.

"No, I'm good," Emma smiled back, "thank you."

Once Gracie had left, Emma wheeled the trolley closer to her little table and chairs that were very rarely used and set the dish-covered-plate down on top, along with her cutlery.

The day had been unusually busy, though now that she had experienced a real taste of life in the fairytale realm, Emma was sure her days were only going to get longer. She had finally learned how do ride. Not spectacularly well, but her instructor had told her that she showed initiative and was taking to it well. Though Emma was sure the words only left his lips because telling a Princess – who was also 'The Saviour', no less – that she was as steady as an intoxicated Centaur on stilts probably wasn't the wisest decision to make.

Even despite the stretch that now ached in her thighs – and the dust that had taken a few more blows than she would've liked to clear from her nose – Emma was happy with her progress. _Slow and steady and all that_, she reminded herself, spying her distorted reflection in the metal dish that covered her meal.

Once removed and set aside on the serving cart, it revealed a plate of a succulent roast dinner. She began salivating at the mere sight and, unable to help herself, lifted one of the smaller roasted potatoes up. She spared no though for its temperature as she fed it past her lips, tongue instantly burning as she attempted to suck in cold air and chew at the same time.

Deciding that her meal had to cool, anyway, Emma left it to stand for a while and moved toward her dresser, pulling at the shirt on her back. She was sure she smelled like horse and stables, but a bath could wait until she was fed. Henry would most likely appear soon, anyway, she mused, shrugging into a clean tunic and trousers. Her feet she left bare, ignoring the slight smell to them that had festered throughout the day, and she tiredly attempted to tie up her hair in a messy bun.

It was while cursing her lacking skills in ribbon tying – _how the hell did Disney make this seem at all possible?_ – that she noticed a furry, black shape from the corner of her peripheral. Glancing over, Emma let out a wail of anguish as she saw Blacky, eyes closed and ears prickling with alertness, licking at the gravy that covered a delectable slice of meat.

By the time she made it over, tripping on the dresser and snapping the ribbon she had wound around her fingers, the troublesome cat saw her coming and grabbed the largest cut of meat on the plate before leaping from the table.

"Son of a bitch!" Emma shouted its way, watching the cat dive instantly to the open window and, this time, she didn't care if it jumped. With mocking orange eyes, wide and, Emma detected, amused, Blacky watched her stand, hands on hips and glaring, from her seat on the windowsill, greedily chewing on her stolen goods.

With an aggravated roar – the sound more Troll than Princess – Emma spun on her heels, hands up as though to ask the high heavens, '_why do bad things happen to good people?!' _and cursed her lack of an evil bone that confined her want to push the little cat out of her window to her thoughts. She left the room with an angry huff, heading for the kitchens to explain to the cook what had happened and ask for a replacement.

"Goddamn cat," reverberated around the stone corridor, echoing into the Princess' bedchambers where a little black cat, happy with her hunt, left the windowsill and stalked towards the table. _Want not, waste not_, the creature thought. If it could laugh, it would have done. Manically.

# # # #

With rough bark beneath her bare feet, and a surprising heat on her back that contained, she was sure, the last of Autumn's boldness, Regina found herself suddenly capable of smiling against the breeze and, one arm outstretched for balance, genuinely enjoying her own company.

Her feet shuffled over the bark, climbing steadily with the tree that had, for whatever reason, grown from the earth at a smooth, diagonal angle. Each carefully balanced footfall brought her closer from the ground, and, in turn, toward the ripe nuts awaiting a reaping on the surrounding trees.

On the ground, consumed by the tallgrass, Tsuki's dark body writhed beneath the sunbeams. The body of shimmering green would sway with the creature's movement as the cat chased floating seeds, carried by fluffy, white bristles that tickled the creature's whiskers whenever she managed a successful attack.

Every now and then, the cat would become distracted in its game by a passing beetle, or a butterfly, and would instantly pounce. Afterward, Tsuki would prance before Regina, on the slanting tree, as though expecting applause for her catch, but all the witch ever offered was a semi-amused, "I have to inhabit that body you're filling with insects, you know?"

Finally having reached as far as she needed to go in order to reach the trees around her, Regina steadied her feet, taking a parted stance in order to maintain her balance, and reached across to the closest tree branch. At the crook of her elbow, a small basket hung, placed inside which were the hazelnuts she managed to pick.

The work could have been completed within seconds with a mere flick of her wrist, but Regina was thankful for the labour. Her hair, long enough to be tied back with a gleaming red ribbon that matched her home-made dress, stuck to her forehead from the heat, but she enjoyed the task.

As ironic as it was, Regina found that the only time she was ever truly happy was when under the Charmings' Palace roof. It was not often that she enjoyed the remaining days that were spent alone, in the company of her little black cat, and she liked to do all she could to keep herself busy. Which was why making the hazelnut milk from her childhood – far too many years since past than she'd like to dwell on – had become a must.

The hazelnut milk she was hoping to make was something a former nanny – when her mother still allowed her to have one – would make whenever Regina was upset. Needless to say, she soon developed a taste for it. Now, back in her old world and seeking comfort through the long months she had to live without Henry by her side, she found she had a craving for the brew.

Tsuki, curious and tired of her bug-eating games, followed the witch indoors once she had descended the diagonal trunk and dusted off her hands down the front of her dress. The natural smells of the forest gave way to the incense that had been left burning inside the cottage, its heady magic already doing wonders for Regina's unruly mind.

A small fire was burning, heating the cottage to an almost unbearable temperature, but Regina was determined to cook her dinner the good old fashioned way. Which meant suffering in silence, for now.

Wiping the beading sweat from her brow with a spare rag, Regina brought her spoils into the kitchen and sat herself down over the old, wooden table. One leg, far shorter than the other three, stood atop an old cook book which had been acquired, second hand, at the market, though Regina had confidence enough in her cooking abilities to keep it where it was. She was at least thankful of the skills she had learned whilst in Storybrooke, and foraging came naturally enough.

Once the hazelnuts had been shed of their shells – the majority of which, thankfully, actually contained a nut – Regina put aside her domesticity in favour of blending them together, with her milk, the easy way. With magic, the process was a lot quieter than an electrical appliance would have been. Soon enough, Regina was filtering the nutty milk through a cloth and into an awaiting jug.

By her feet, watching with wide, inquisitive eyes after having just devoured what was left in her food bowl, Tsuki stared up at her human with intrigue. Ignored, she let out a whiny meow and moved closer, brushing her back up against the cheap material that covered the long legs in front of her, and pushed herself up onto hind legs in order to paw at the witch's knee.

Smirking, Regina pulled the glass of hazelnut milk – tasting just how she remembered it – from her lips and wiped the white moustache that remained. "You want some, too, little cat?" she asked rhetorically, as though those wide, hungry orange eyes had not all but answered before the words left her mouth.

Standing, Regina did her best not to step on any furry limbs as she manoeuvred around the meowing beast slinking around her legs and bent to pour some of her milk into the cat's bowl. As she had expected – for Tsuki really had developed a taste for all kinds of foods with her influence – the creature lapped happily at the cool liquid with vigour. With a smile, Regina stood and made to return the jug of milk and her newly concocted hazelnut milk to the stone pantry. The Autumn's unusual heat had been trying on her preserved stock, but it was nothing a little magic couldn't handle.

Returning to the small kitchen and dining area with a strawberry between plump lips, Regina sat herself down with her glass and enjoyed the moment of quiet before she returned to the simmering broth on the fire.

The milk Tsuki was drinking would be her last meal for the night, she decided; she wanted the cat to have an appetite for the Charmings' dinner the following evening. She could stand a lot of things in this near-poverty-stricken state of living, but a vomiting cat with her soul trapped inside of it was not one of them.

# # # #

The sky was partially hidden by cloud covering, the deep purples and navies navigating the endless black by the map of stars that seemed, in this world, Emma thought, so much brighter, closer, than in her last. The sepulchral ships, a navy of ethereal sails that reeked of dystopian nobilities, cruised the sky, stoic, as though travelling to battle. Straining her ear, Emma thought she could hear their movement with the wind that bristled, unruly, through the Palace gardens, bringing with it a taste for the coming Winter. Autumn was quickly disappearing, the trees in the gardens all but leafless already. She could already imagine what the ground would look like, littered with snow, how it would return to this the beauty that nearly all of them had seen, when arriving in Spring.

The air was, thankfully, warm enough for Emma to stand without a heavy cloak weighing upon her shoulders, and, as the airborne fleet above sailed past her peripheral, her hours spent sitting on the little twisted-tree bench in the Palace gardens were rewarded by an un-obscured view of the full moon. She felt a kinship with the great, reflective ball that she did not share with many others, so alone in the darkness that was only relieved by fading stars.

But the moon had the sun, she reminded herself, and those insignificant, dying specks of light that showed the white orb no kindness remained only as shadows etched in memory.

Lost in non-thought and the numinous beauty bestowed from above, Emma did not first hear the padded footfalls of an approaching tiger. The little black cat paused upon seeing the lone woman on their bench, the clear light from overhead casting a long shadow that tore through the grass and hedgerows beside her. The pensive expression Emma's face was not lost on the creature and, cautious, she approached.

"Hey, cat," came the sighed greeting as Blacky leapt onto the bench.

Emma smiled at the creature, giving her an affectionate scratch behind the ears, before sinking against the back of the bench and bouncing one foot on the ground. Her muscles were aching from her day of sword fighting – she liked to think that when David fell and allowed her to point the tip of her sword toward his neck in mock-consideration over allowing him to live or not, he had lost his balance because of her finesse and had not simply given her the win – and the jovial duels had the adrenaline sparking her nerve endings all day. She felt wired, unable to sleep, and wondered, now, if it was her knowledge of Blacky's expected arrival (any day now) that had brought her to the growing bench in the gardens.

Now, she allowed her head to tilt against the back of the tree, peering up into the darkness. Light came and left her face with stranded clouds that breezed across the sky as though they had nothing better to do. Others would move quicker, propelled by heavy gusts of wind, Emma expected, and reminded her of the bustling streets of Boston, where everybody seemed to be seconds away from being late to an important meeting.

The familiarity of the night, with Blacky by her side and the moon high above, had her shoulders relaxing around the strained muscles that still screamed from the exuberant energy exerted through the day and well into the evening. It was mid-way through a yawn, mouth open and obnoxious noise wailing out, that her derailed train of thought suddenly caught and found purchase on just how _familiar_ the night felt, to the point of a déjà-vu-induced headache.

With a crease now marring her brow, green eyes slid to the black mound beside her, curled up and watching the darkness around them with wide, dark eyes, the creature's orange irises now nothing more than hoops of reflective light. She thought she saw a fire burning in their glow, but the illusion was lost as soon as her eyelids eclipsed it from view in a series of unnerved blinks.

Hoping to crawl free from the unease now dripping, cold, beneath her shirt, she resumed her position, facing the moon, but light from above – waning and waxing behind textures of cloud – did nothing to help her inner fugitive. And then realisation hit, enough to pull down hard on the breaks of her galloping train of thought, which, squealing with the sudden strain, sent her bolt upright in her seat.

Blacky flinched, fur raised like a Mohawk down her back, her tail suddenly twice its usual size, as she stared, wide eyed, at the woman beside her. Green eyes locked with dark, searching the endless pools for what the little cat was unsure. The creature held Emma's gaze like a challenge.

After a silent pause, the cat's fur flattened, its tail waving to an irritable rhythm as the woman beside her settled back into the bench, hoping to gain strength from its rough bark finish. Swallowing the words that threatened to clog her airway, Emma sucked in a cold lungful of air and shook her head to rid her of her impossible theory.

Her frown, this time, was at herself and the magic that brimmed inside this world and made even her most ludicrous of fantasies a possibility. Though even as she headed back inside the Palace, passing armed guards that wore her family's crest, she could not help but eye the furry black cat that led the way with an unnerved, suspicious gaze.

# # # #

Snow White adored all animals and treated them with the respect their noble and humble breeds deserved. It was a surprise, then, whenever animals did not return the gesture. And, more so than shocked, Snow found it to be wholly inconvenient when one particular animal that seemed, despite her attempts to bond with it, to dislike her mere presence in the room actually lived beneath the same roof as her. Unfortunately, that was the case with Blacky.

The cat could not be more amiable or adoring when in the presence of Henry, padding over his chest as he lay by the fire and laughed throatily as each jabbing paw hit a sensitive, ticklish part of his body. Her daughter, too, was on the cat's good side and refrained from hissing or lashing out each time Emma lifted the creature into her arms for an affectionate snuggle. Even David, his large hands fitting around the arch of the creature's back as he petted her, suffered no consequences from showing the beast any affection, and yet whenever Snow White entered the room, Blacky would hiss at her skirts and, if she got too close, claw at her slipper-clad feet.

Henry and Emma – and David, for she caught the smile he tried to hide – would laugh at her defensive behaviour around the animal, even as she tried to understand why the cat seemed to dislike her. After having a dress ripped by the savage creature's gleaming claws, however, Snow tried at best to keep out of her way. The animosity between them was ridiculous, until seen in person, and yet Emma and Henry had pleaded for the cat to stay. Begrudgingly, Snow allowed Blacky to remain with them, but it was very rare that they were found in the same room together.

As far as her distrust of the cat went, however, Snow White appeared to be just as perplexed as her husband when Emma happened upon them, breathless, at breakfast one morning, rambling about the creature having supernatural origins.

"So… there are werewolves in this world, right?" Emma asked, as inconspicuously as she could manage while feeling unable to stomach the food on her plate. Her thoughts lingered on Red and the tales she had been told of her horrific discovery of her true self.

"Yes," David answered, not taking his eyes from the slice of bread he was buttering, "but the castle is sufficiently protected against any werewolf attacks. In fact, we haven't had a werewolf attack here in years. Unless you count Red." His eyes glistened with mirth when he glanced up, his crooked grin earning a teasing slap from Snow.

"Behave," She smiled ruefully, then turned her eyes to her daughter. "You're not worried about a werewolf attack are you, Emma?"

"No, not really." Blonde hair quaked with a hesitant shake. "But, are there other creatures like them?" She dragged her bottom lip between rows of teeth as she saw her parents share a perplexed look.

"What kind of other animals?" Snow asked. Usually, she would put Emma's questions down to curiosity, but the troubled expression on her daughter's face seemed to state that this wasn't the case, now.

"Like… other animals that _change_ on a full moon?" Emma asked, almost fearing an answer.

Her chest flooded with disappointment, however, at David's shaking head. "There are thousands of different breeds of shapeshifters," he offered, "but they can mostly change on a whim."

"Mostly?" Emma asked, eyebrows raised, hoping she had snagged a lead for her suspicion.

"What's wrong, Emma?" Snow interrupted David's answer, her hand sealing over the other woman's on the table.

"Nothing." She shook her head, but her fist was tense beneath her mother's. "It's just…" She thought how absurd her theory was, how worried her parents looked, and tried to ignore the embarrassment she would feel at yet again confusing herself with this new world. She attempted to relax, eased her shoulders, brought a smirk to her lips and asked, copying the inquisitive look that she often saw over Henry's face whenever he was asking about dragons and ogres, "Are there, like, _werecats_?"

She did not expect David's rumble of laughter, and found her cheeks burning at his tactless response. When he noticed his daughter's scowl, however, he schooled his amusement and cleared his throat. "Not that I've heard of, Emma," he offered, eyes brimming with good-natured hilarity.

"What makes you ask?" Snow's brow creased with a frown, cautious of the irritable discomfort she found over her daughter's face.

After a pause, considering her option, Emma merely shook her head and sighed. "Nothing. I was just wondering why Blacky only appeared once a month. It seems a little odd, don't you think?"

Snow's face softened with the question and her smile was nothing but kind. Emma could easily believe every depiction of her mother in the fairytales of her old world. "That's just like cats, Emma," she offered, reassuringly, "they come and go. And Blacky was a stray before we brought her in, she'll settle soon enough."

David nodded his support. "I wouldn't be surprised if she already had a home and came here only for the good cuts of meat," he smirked, as unlikely as the scenario sounded to Emma. Though she supposed it was a possibility.

Sighing, Emma offered her parents a nod and snagged a piece of buttered bread from her father's plate as she stood. "I'm gonna head to the stables," she offered as a means of excusing herself, and turned to exit before either parent could see the dejected expression pinching her features. She knew it was a ridiculous idea, but her worries would not let her ignore the urge to ask anyway. _Some good that did_, she thought bitterly, and held her arms tightly about her middle as she stepped out into the Palace gardens.


	5. Chapter 5

The next time Blacky graced the Charmings' Palace with her presence, Emma had to congratulate herself for masking – as well as she could, anyway – any unease she felt. As though sensing the fizzing discomfort in the air, however, Blacky made sure to avoid Emma for the majority of the evening. Even as it grew late and she and Henry sunk into the soft mattress of her large, Queen-sized bed, the little cat curled defensively against her son's chest, away from her.

Emma had to wonder, with dread weighing down her chest, if the creature really was consciously aware of the sudden suspicion stinking the air and, with it, if the cat really was just as ordinary – to this world, and the last – as she had first reassured herself. The sinking feeling pulling her down into the bed sheets was enough to keep Emma awake long enough to feel the shifting of the mattress beside her. She refrained from moving, quickly shut her eyes, and listened to the sound of Blacky shuffling from the bed and dropping to the floor.

The bedroom window had been deliberately left open despite the chill of the early Winter air, and an extra few blankets had been added to her bed spread. Emma was overly aware that Blacky would not stay the night and could not find it in herself to close the window, should it mean the cat remained, and – although she was sure this was just her overactive imagination – turned into a hideous, man-eating beast by morning.

When she was sure the cat was out of the room, Emma shot up from the bed and stared at the ghostly wisps of curtain that billowed around the empty cavity. She hurried from the bed, pulling on trousers from the day before over her nightwear, quiet enough not to disturb Henry from his slumber, and raced from her room.

To the alarmed and fretful guards she passed, Emma voiced her hushed reassurances that she needed a little air. She ignored the flaws in her excuse and, when stopped at the door, disarmed a guard in favour of his sword and detached a torch from one wall.

"I'll be back," she hurried, "don't wake my parents!"

# # # #

Regina was unsure as to where the bobbing, orange glow was coming from, at first, but it soon became clear that she was being followed. Panic seized her chest and caused her to stumble, still inside Tsuki's body, through some tangled brambles at the base of the fallen tree she had just leapt from. Silently cursing, she hurried on, leaving the dirt and debris of the forest caught in her fur to be cleaned out by Tsuki herself. She diverted from her usual path, sinking further into the forest, if only to have her pursuer follow an inconvenient trail.

The snapping twigs in the distance alerted her to the struggles of her follower, and she continued on through thick hedgerows and twisted bushes, where she hoped to lose the persistent pursuer. The snapping and cursing, however, only grew closer and, glancing over one shoulder, Regina realised that whoever was following – and she was beginning to have an idea of who it might be – was not going to relent. They were getting closer.

Overwhelmed with rage and panic, she forced herself to leave the path she was carving through the forest and leapt up a tree trunk, claws scathing the bark until she had scaled enough to reach the first branch. Once there and out of sight, she stopped and watched, waiting for the identity of her pursuer to be revealed.

Regina thought that she should be surprised, but as soon as Emma Swan's figure came into view, a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. She could only find it in herself, however, to roll the large, orange eyes she was borrowing and leap from her branch.

She supposed she could have remained up there until Emma tired of her search, losing the trail, and took off home again – or, better yet, got lost in the forest – but the cat was out of the bag (and she almost winced at the pun). It was better she dealt with this now rather than in a month's time.

Her landing over rustling leaves spooked Emma, and she managed a smirk even confined to Tsuki's pliable body. Soon, green eyes pierced her own, and the sword, trembling in one hand, wavered between the ground and pointing directly at her. Playing the sympathy card with a deep inner-amusement, Regina let out a quaking meow, high-pitched and fearful, and watched as the sword hung loosely in Emma's hand. Just as she had thought. _Pathetic_.

Feeling a little safer, if not just as worried about what this might mean for her future, she begrudgingly sat and stared up at Emma, waiting for her to make the next move. She wondered if Emma would relent and leave, seeing she was posing no threat, but Emma remained and her eyes were dark and hard.

Regina had felt the change in her previous visit, the hostility in the air that seemed to exude from the tense blonde, and she had hoped that it didn't mean what she thought it meant. Of course, that seemed to be the case now.

She thought about staying there all night, stuck in a tasteless stalemate with Emma (the idea only all too reminiscent of their time in Storybrooke), but she could feel her compressed spirit itching and convulsing inside Tsuki's tiny body and knew that she hadn't long before they parted. She could not risk her spirit roaming free in these dark woods and knew that, as reluctant as she was in entertaining the thought, she would have to return to her cottage sooner rather than later. And she was sure she'd have an unwelcome visitor when she did.

It was with a sigh, unsure as to what to do now, that Emma lowered herself into a crouch. She eyed the little black cat before her with caution, as though it might spring at her at any moment, and her fist tightened around the sword in her right hand. She frowned at the cat, which she was sure the beast returned, and tried to ignore the sounds of the buzzing forest around her. She was well aware that she had passed the grounds of her Kingdom and feared what monsters lurked in the dark woods her parents had severely warned her against entering.

She was almost thankful when, with a dejected and irritated meow, Blacky perked from her feet and hissed at her crouched form before hurrying into the woods. Emma barely had time to straighten before she was lurching after the cat, torch held in front of her so as to keep its retreating form in sight. It wouldn't do to lose it now, she thought, not when she had come this far.

Emma managed to follow the cat for what could have been hours, gaining only minor scrapes and scratches from the unwelcoming forest. She had little time to pause for breath, and took note of the lightening sky; dawn was fast approaching, and Henry would soon wake without her.

She did not understand the coiling feeling deep within her gut that warned her that whatever Blacky would reveal to her by dawn would not be something she wanted to see, but she continued on regardless, stopping only when she noticed winding tendrils of smoke coming from directly ahead, above the canopy.

The twisted smog could only ever be coming from a fire, and Emma's stomach lurched at the possibility. A camp? Even as she wondered what was going on, however, she was suddenly quite sure of what – or _who_ – she was going to come across once she reached the location of the fire. There was no doubt in her that that was where Blacky was heading.

Before she entered the clearing, even, her sight of the quaint cottage obscured by trees, Emma hoped that she was about to come across a lonely old woman who lived with the company of none but her cats. She wished to believe in her father's theory that Blacky was merely an owned cat who had a taste for Palace finery, but the twisting of her gut told it that solution would most definitely be too good to be true. _Too easy_.

By the time she reached the cottage's front door, Blacky was nowhere in sight, but an open window had her suspicious. She thought about knocking, reassured herself that she still might be intruding on a lonely old woman, but the hammering of her heart drove her hand toward the handle without thought. Before she realised what she had done, the door was closing behind her and she was staring into the cramped interior of the miniature house.

The living area took up the majority of the space, an old settee and armchair consuming the majority of the limited floor space, standing directly in front of her and shielding her from the dying blaze of the fireplace. To her right stood a small table and chairs, and a ladder that she assumed led up to the second level, opening up into what Emma saw to be only a small space. The dining area housed numerous cupboards and shelves, each filled with jars of ingredients, cooking equipment, and books, along with trinkets she was sure had been used in her old world years before the invention of electricity, though were much more than vintage decorations here.

Caught in her assessment of her surroundings, she failed to notice the little black cat until it had jumped onto the back of the sofa, staring at her shyly. With a peculiar frown, Emma almost thought she had no right to have been suspicious in the first place and reached her hand out to pet the tiny animal, considering leaving now and returning home before her absence was noticed. Her eyes were stinging with sleep deprivation and the sword in her hand (the torch had been abandoned in the forest after burning out) hung limp and heavy, her muscles pleading with her to drop it.

As her fingers neared the soft, black fur, however, Blacky let out a hostile hiss and leapt from the back of the sofa. Emma stared after the cat as it disappeared into the kitchen area, frowning with both unease and confusion. That wasn't like Blacky. With her sword hand raising almost subconsciously, she made to go after the cat to make sure it was okay, but a soft groan from by the fire froze her in place.

A tremor of panic charged through her spine, feasting with a tickling unease at the soft flesh over her back, and she twisted to crane her neck over the sofa to see what – or who – had made the noise. The sight that greeted her sent her reeling with dubious incredulity.

Lay there on the rug in front of the fire was none other than Regina Mills. She looked different here, to say the least. Her hair, grown to her shoulders, waved and curled with the lack of a straightening iron, and her face held a more natural glow as opposed to the brutal make-up she had preferred in the old world. Natural pink lips parted with another groan, much softer, and Regina's head shifted to one side, eyes clenching, as she came back to herself.

Petrified to the spot, Emma's eyes travelled Regina's body. The dress she wore looked to be a far cry from the Gucci and Burberry she was accustomed to seeing fit snugly around the lithe, olive-toned body before her, but its authentic appearance gave the usually hard-faced woman a much softer, approachable persona. Though Emma doubted much had changed to tamper Regina's devious nature.

Something suddenly clicked, then, as her eyes rose back to the sleeping woman's, and the plummeting drop of her heart had her taking a rushed step back, shoulders slamming with a panic into the closed door.

Regina _was_ Blacky. The realisation hit her so suddenly, it could only be true. Sucking in a breath, she twisted her neck to spot the furry, black animal now sitting atop the table, licking its paw. Her breathing was both shallow and laboured, eyes wide, and she almost jumped right out of her skin when she heard the low-toned greeting of, "Hello, dear. Nice of you to stop by."

Regina sighed as she fixed her startled guest with a firm glare. Damnit, she'd ruined everything. _Again_. Dusting off her dress and combing an unruly strand of hair out of her eyes, she attempted to ignore her sudden fatigue at having a bad night's rest on top of the draining magic she had performed, and shifted straight past Emma – barely holding back a sneer at the sight of her sword – into her kitchen area.

The fire was still burning, despite its fatigued flames, and the heat was a welcome blanket against the cold outdoors. She stopped to pull the window shutters tightly into place and then made for her pantry, going in search of her go-to anxiety-relief. When she returned from the pantry, she saw Emma standing, a little stronger, in the middle of her living room. She raised an eyebrow at the pale expression, hardened and cold, and nodded down to indicate the jug in her hands. "Would you like a glass?"

With no answer returned, save the garish, unblinking green gaze that, if she was honest, was beginning to unnerve her, Regina moved to the table, shooing Tsuki from the top. She retrieved two glasses, anyway, and thrust the second into Emma's hand. Only when Emma gripped it back and appeared to become aware of their close proximity did she take a sip.

Forgetting, all too late, that this was a woman who actively plotted to poison both her and her mother (and succeeded in one – she dared not dwell on the outcome of the other), Emma filled her mouth with the milky substance. It was only when the nutty taste attacked her tastebuds that sense returned to her and she spat the liquid back into the glass in distaste, ignoring the disgusted look Regina was now giving her.

"It's not poisoned." Regina rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her own hazelnut milk. "But if you'd much rather prefer something else, I suppose I could make coffee." She only wanted to keep busy, and the guise of playing the perfect hostess filled her bones like she had birthed the character.

At the drop of that one little word, however, Emma's face shattered with longing. The gesture was far too precious to give up on and, poisoned or not, Emma found herself craving coffee more than she did getting the hell out of a former Evil Queen's cosy cottage in the woods. She could not quite voice her wishes, however, but her parting lips and desperate intake of air had a small smirk playing at Regina's lips.

"I'll take that as a yes." Her smile was almost private as she turned, dropping her glass onto the sofa to go in search of the right jar of coffee beans. "I suppose we won't be talking of my little visits to your Palace?" she asked over one shoulder as she reached down a jar and a mortar.

Emma's silence was as much an answer as she could take. With her back turned to the other woman, she allowed her body to go through the familiar motions of retrieving the necessary ingredients and equipment, all the while her chest felt as though it had concaved in on itself, ribs tightened around her lungs, throat blocked with the determination to keep her sobs at bay. It was over. She was done.

Her brisk movements disguised the quake of her tingling hands and the coffee, now, was as much for her own case of light-headedness as it was Emma's. It was only whilst kneeling before her fire, stirring a pan of warming water, that Emma spoke.

Her eyes took in the equipment that Regina had settled down before her on the fire and a frown suddenly marred her brow, as though only just realising that Regina had been moving all this time. She felt herself falling from her earlier paralysis and asked, if only to test her new acquaintance with her voice box, "How did you learn to do all of this?" The bitterness did not quite lift from her tone. They didn't have coffee back at the palace.

Regina turned if only to regard her disdainfully over one shoulder, as though having previously forgotten she was still imposing upon her home. "I'm a domestic Goddess," she deadpanned, turning back to her brew.

Emma frowned at the response and huffed out a breath. Her hand finally began clamping around the hilt of her sword and, tired, she dropped heavily into the worn armchair and rested her weapon against the side. She doubted Regina had much fight left in her. The unvoiced implications of what this little discovery meant were not lost on her, and yet Emma still found herself asking 'why?' _Why go to all that trouble, put yourself in so much danger?_ The answer resonated clear as day in her head, as though it was Regina's voice carrying through after having overheard her thoughts. _Henry_.

Sinking back into the plump cushions behind her back – and doing her best to fight sleep, of which she was sure the coffee would help – Emma viewed the kneeling woman before her with a softer eye. Her head tilted to regard Regina, mainly out of fatigue, as she stoked the fire and stirred the now bubbling water. When the smell of coffee began to fill the air, consuming the natural freshness of dawn, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The smell took her right back to her old world, her _own_ world, and her heart sang in remembrance.

When she opened her eyes again, Regina was before her, holding out a mug. She took it without resistance and blew joyfully at its rising steam. Her first sip was quick and tentative, both cautious of the temperature and the ever-present threat of never awakening afterwards. When her eyes next opened, it was to find Regina had seated herself on the sofa, legs curled up beside her.

Dark eyes pinned her from across the slight distance, curious and not a little fretful. Eventually, voice dripping with morbid curiosity, Regina questioned, "Please, indulge me. What gave me away?" Emma took another sip of her coffee before answering.

"The moon."

As though having been summoned, the little black cat she was so familiar with, and yet so obviously not, entered the room with a whining meow. The intrusion was enough to take Emma's eyes from the surprised, thoughtful orbs of Storybrooke's former mayor. The beast certainly seemed more restless than usual, she thought, and it took a coaxing pat of Regina's hand on the cushion beside her to persuade the cat join her on the sofa.

It settled after walking a number of circles into the cushion, and threw its tiny body down, orange eyes closing soon after. Regina's soothing fingers running through the soft tuft of dark fur by the base of the cat's neck provoked a noisy purr from the settled creature, the sound both familiar and new, but soothing Emma's pounding chest as she took another sip from her mug.

"How did you do it?"

Regina looked up with a sigh. She supposed there was no point in holding back, now. Emma would leave her today and, with her, all chances of seeing Henry again would escape her desperate grasp. The thought almost caused a sob deep within her chest, but she managed to bite it back with a sharp intake of air. Quietly, she confessed, "Your parents' wards hold room for loopholes." Emma did not miss the insult in her tone. "I merely took advantage of them."

"In a cat's body?" She sounded incredulous to her own ears, but not even the magic that so clearly blossomed in this realm could make the idea sound at all possible. Her shoulders were itching with discomfort at the thought.

Regina resisted the urge to roll her eyes and defended, tone sharp, "It takes a great deal of power and determination to master a spirit-extraction spell, never mind actually successfully entering another creature's body."

Emma's eyebrows knitted at her words. "It sounds a little… severe." Even as the words left her mouth, she knew Regina would go to further lengths in order to see their son. The sentiments ravished Regina's eyes with a short-lived fury before simmering down to something akin to despairing resolution.

"I would do anything," Regina began, but she saw the acknowledgement in Emma's eyes and decided that her words did not need continuing. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and retrieved her hand from the back of Tsuki's neck. Her purring stopped soon after. "Tsuki was more than willing to help," she added quietly, eyes drifting down to the little cat beside her.

"Tsuki?"

Dark eyes met green and Emma was almost sure there was humour behind the insult. "Anything is an improvement on _Blacky_." Regina shook her head and almost managed a smile at just how terrible Emma was at naming, but she couldn't quite force the gesture.

A silence fell between the two, both uncomfortable and expectant, and it was only after the mug in her hands began to blister her palms that Regina next spoke. Her voice was nothing short of an intrusion to the otherwise quiet cottage. "Will you alert them?"

Emma eyes rose slowly to her own, and she could tell that the possibility had done more than flit across Emma's mind. _I'm finished_, Regina reminded herself, scaring the hope back deep inside. _It's over_.

Finding herself suddenly unable to answer, for the part of her that was horrified that Regina Mills had slipped so easily and frequently beneath their noses without alerting a single one of them until now, was instantly countered by her admiration and, shocked as she was to find it, relief that the woman had not given up on Henry. That meant something. It had to.

Swallowing thickly, Emma rose from her seat. She had outstayed her welcome for long enough.

Regina watched as Emma relieved herself of the coffee mug and lifted the sword into her hand. Her arms hung with the tiredness of a sleepless night, and she had no doubt that Emma was in quite a hurry to return home, if only to voice her new discovery to the ruling monarchs and collapse back beneath the soft sheets that Regina herself was only all too familiar with. She found it more than peculiar that she was already missing their warmth.

Standing from the sofa so she could better see the other woman out, Regina felt a familiar bite clawing up her throat and, despite being quite certain that she would not be seeing her son next month, or soon after, she found the strained smirk that pinched at her lips a blessing to fall into. "Goodbye, Princess."

Emma turned, clear discomfort from the title tensing her shoulders, and frowned. Her fingers grazed the door handle and she hesitated not once to pull it open, determined to return home. Just as she crossed the threshold, a familiar mocking drifted to her from inside the heated cottage.

"Oh, and Ms. Swan?" She turned quickly, half expecting a delayed attack. "You really do have magic fingers. Your behind-the-ear scratches are, mm, _sensational_."

The blush remained even after she had reached the Palace and collapsed, thankful of the sight of Henry's sleeping body, on the bed beside her son.

# # # #

A Winter snowfall came like the inevitable end of all cycles, filling the hills and valleys and the surrounding Palace gardens with a whiteness so bleak, Emma felt her stomach freeze merely sighting it. White, everywhere. If anyone were to ask what Emma Swan's idea of death would be, she'd point toward the western hillside, where not even the mangled trees could escape the build-up of frost. The whiteness there sunk from the air, just as pale and devastating, and its flaky poison filtered down with an impression of beauty that had allured her, more than once, to watch nature slowly dying.

She would stay, repelled and enchanted, until the awe mutated into realisation, like the times she would subconsciously crane her neck to see if any bodies could be made out from car crashes and then, disgusted at herself and all around her, she would realise what she was doing and swiftly move along.

She had heard her father telling her mother in a passing comment that this was the coldest winter he remembered having. Then he relayed the tales of his childhood, being brought up on the farm, the animals it was imperative that he tend to should they have a hope of surviving until Spring. Emma had shook her head with a fond smile and concluded that her parents really could not be better suited. She almost forgave Disney right there and then, because who couldn't exploit such an obvious, well-suited match?

But now, Emma's stomach was far from easy. Her chest lurched, fingers numbing on the windowsill in her bedroom, as she peered out at the Palace grounds. Guards were positioned on the usual posts and she almost felt bad for them having to be out in such brutal weather, but then remembered her parents' kindness in rewarding their loyalty. They'd be going home to a warm house and a hotter meal, she reassured herself.

"Hey, Emma."

She turned to see Henry leaning against her bedroom door, head of shaggy brown hair almost covering his eyes. He'd grown a lot since they came here, and the heavy fur cloak Snow insisted he wore was now carried over broadening shoulders.

"Hey, kid. You okay?"

Henry joined her side, peering out at the bleakness with a sparkle in his eye that made Emma long for the ignorance of youth. "Yeah… we're going sledging later, will you come?" He looked up, and only after seeing her fretful expression did his stomach coil. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Emma attempted to reassure him, one arm hanging over his shoulders as she turned her gaze back to the window. "I just don't like the cold."

It wasn't a lie, not really. She hated the cold. It reminded her of those nights she thought she might freeze to death, almost wished she would so that her foster parents would see her in the morning, blue and stiff, and cry out for all the wrong they had inflicted, begging the high heavens above for a second chance.

"You can wear a cloak," Henry offered, but saw the resolute answer in her gaze. Sighing, he turned back to the window, trying to find what had her so captivated. "What's out there?" he asked, missing the widening of Emma's eyes as they flew to him. The arm around his shoulder tightened.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

That night, while Snow and James and Henry were curled up with hot chocolates by the fire, Emma excused herself and headed to the gardens. The living bench she was so accustomed to sitting on was covered with a foot of snow, the sight doing nothing for her churning stomach, and so she remained on two feet and was at least thankful for the cover of darkness that attempted to mask the bleakness of the ground around her.

Straining to look up into the night sky, Emma found solace in its depth. She had waited all day for this and now she felt as though she could breathe again, but her heart hammered so hard inside her chest, she had to worry if there was really something wrong. Her lips were dry and cracked and, restless, she licked them even despite her better judgement.

Heavy clouds cluttered the sky like misshapen marshmallows, and Emma felt their weight from below, feet numbing in the snow that came past her ankles. A frustration began to coil in her shoulders as she watched, waiting, for the sky to grant her wish. Eventually, when her nose was numb and chest seizing at the cold air being inhaled, the blankness above conceded.

The moon was large and full, mocking in its whiteness and bore down on the landscape and Emma like a cold spotlight marking the faults. She craved its touch and closed her eyes, sucking in a startling lungful of ice, as it bestowed what she could only be sure was healing energy over her reddening features.

Her eyelids almost refused to open, whether caught with frost or merely unable to let go of the hope that remained while they were shut, and she stood for a long moment in her own darkness. Only when her hammering heart became too much did she open them.

A cry almost left Emma's lips as she saw the small figure approaching. The closer it came, the more defined its snow-clumped black fur became, weighted by frost. She felt her chest seize with a relief she hadn't known she had been waiting for and did not hold back her thankful smile to whatever heat was keeping Regina alive in her little cottage in the woods.

Turning, she led the creature inside, peering over her shoulder once to confirm it was following. The cat struggled in the shoulder-deep snow, and Emma was suddenly wary of just how different the journey could have gone, should it be anyone but Regina trapped inside the frail body of the beast.

When they reached the warmth of the family living quarters, a meowed sigh was released and before Emma had a chance to call for him, Henry's ears pricked toward the sound and he came rushing over, a large smile over his lips. He had voiced his fears of Blacky's survival chances in the cold, and she had done all that she could to reassure him, but the animal's presence proved to be as much a sigh of relief to her as it quite clearly was for he.

"Blacky!" The sight of her son unwittingly lifting his other mother into his arms and settling her frosty body against his chest, furry ears tickling his chin, provoked a rare stinging sensation behind Emma's eyes and she turned, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of her intrusion on the mother-son moment, and made for the door. A soft meow had her craning over one shoulder, only to see what she was sure was a rare smile on the little black cat's lips. If cats could smile, this one was laughing with tears.

Later that night, with the window open even despite the night's shocking chill, Emma lay awake beneath the numerous blankets she had begged for and borrowed in her bed. Beside her, a small black shape purred happily against the heat of Henry's back.

As they slept, a new kind of magic began to weave a precarious intrusion into the frosted air. It touched the three beings present with glowing tendrils of effervescent light that sang like windchimes when touched. Unaware and suspended in blissful slumber, neither person in the Queen-sized bed registered the dip and shift of the mattress, or the heat of a new body being added beneath the blankets, safe from Winter's desperate clutch.

When Emma awoke that morning, it was to the sight of none other than Regina Mills sleeping peacefully between her and their son.

* * *

_A/N: So, there it is, the last chapter. Thanks for showing an interest in this fic, _again_. It's been great to get it back up, and I'm still working on the sequel, which finally has a title. Feedback has been relatively scarce on this fic, which I understand, as it's a repost, but I would like to confirm that people are interested in the sequel…? I'll post the first chapter of it soon (I want to finish up a few chapters, so that I have a bit of a head-start), and likely update it every week, unless my schedule suddenly fills up._

_I'd like to mention, too, that this entire fic was inspired by a line in one of Exquisiteliltart's fics, when Regina said something along the lines of, "I make a beautiful raven…" (I'm pretty sure it's from _These Aren't the Happy Endings You're Looking For_, but I may be wrong)._

_Thanks a lot, though, and I hope this fic still has followers by the time the sequel comes out._

_K_

* * *

_[PREVIEW]_

_Regina Mills has just about enough time to realise that she is awake before she is being dragged from the bed she had fallen asleep in, and pushed into a lavatory. Her eyes are bleary, and her body is cold, but when she opens her mouth in protest, a hand clamps over it to keep her quiet._

_Emma's face appears next, her expression somewhere between glaring and incredulous, as she pushes Regina back against a cold, stone wall. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hisses, casting several quick glances towards the doorway._


End file.
